


Thief

by double_negative



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, (or something like that), (who happens to be Yuri), Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Headcanon, How Do I Tag, M/M, Otabek is Otabek, POV Second Person, Unreliable Narrator, Yuri is pissed and baffled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/double_negative/pseuds/double_negative
Summary: Otabek has trouble expressing his true emotions.Yuri is an angry brat in denial.That certainly won't work at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of my headcanons poured into this tiny fic, because we don't know a lot about Otabek at that point, and I only caught up to the episode 10, ~~but I love my new son with all my heart.~~  
>  This is not what I intended to write at all and it might actually suck, but I will probably write more after we get more information on those two. This is kind of venting my feelings about this pairing and stuff.
> 
> Loosely inspired by the tradition of "stealing" your bride before marriage which is still fairly frequent (even if only as a re-enactment for tradition's sake and not an actual act of kidnapping) in both Kazakhstan and some parts of Russia (where I happen to live), so there's another tidbit of information for you.
> 
> This is for wifey, as always.

He steals you away.

That's what the fans say at least and while you could care less about their opinion, you agree with them on that. Otabek just appears before you and sweeps you off your feet. That's what you repeat to yourself. He's arrogant and rough around the edges, that guy, he just took what he wanted without considering your wishes. Like a thief, running away with his loot.

(You wonder if you will ever be able to believe your own lies.)

And when you two sit across from each other at the cafe table, your mind keeps spinning in circles. Otabek keeps talking, about your previous encounters in the training camp, but you just can't remember. You were completely out of it for the most part, only concentrating on the goal set before you, on practice, on getting into routine, you completely disregarded your peers. But how could you not spot someone as infuriating as Otabek? How could you forget everything about that horrible, horrible, horrible person. He sits before you, his face completely still save for his lips, that constant expression of concentration that makes your blood boil. His eyes are locked on you, unmoving, unwavering as he recounts his fascination with you. And even words of praise don't sound like flattery from that mouth, they feel almost practiced, devoid of feeling like a newspaper article would be, like someone who's reading from the sсript. You are mortified, you can't move and an angry outburst is already forming in your throat, but you can't just spit it out.

(You wonder what you can steal for him to make him pay.)

It takes weeks if not months to get used to it. He's always like that. Otabek just doesn't smile. Ever. At least you weren't able to make him. He frowns though, sometimes, but it's so rare and fleeting you can't help but try to piss him off on purpose just to see his face finally move, his fixed expression change even if just a little. He catches onto it quite quick, dismissing your another outburt with just a quiet sigh. You are friends now, at least he said so just before you shook hands.

(And it felt like his glove left a permanent imprint on your pale skin.)

You are friends, sure. Not like you've never had a friend before. It was supposed to be easy, give and take, but it feels like Otabek just keeps on taking without even realising he is doing that and that slowly drives you insane. He talks to you like he doesn't care if you listen. He takes you out to dinner and doesn't mention splitting the bill. You wonder if he's trying to court you, but he doesn't give you a single hint and when you poke and prod at him for answers, it's those same words that were already said before. That same admiration you can't really make sense of. What does he really want to gain from you? You scream at him, but he doesn't bat an eye, just looks at you the same like always before turning away. He straddles his bike and leaves. You wonder if you made him angry. Or upset. Or anything. But you stay silent for an entire week. At the end of it he invites you to see a movie. He looks at the screen the entire time.

(You wonder if he noticed how much of the plot you missed because you stared at his face so much.)

You hate it, because just like that, your entire world is turned upside-down, your attention, before entirely devoted towards training, training until you're drop from exhaustion, until you are perfect, perfect _enough,_ because all you need is that victory. And he's stolen away even that, forced himself in your life and that's exactly why you hate it so much. Because it turns out there's more to life than succeding, getting that first place and that golden medal, and you think you have the right to be displeased by that, because now your thoughts are in complete disarray and your focus have shifted so much you can't pour your entire being in skating anymore, you can't help but fixate on how he looked, how he spoke to you, and there's more, so much more. Because more time he steals from you, the more you realise, begrudgingly, that you actually _want_ him to.

(Want him to be around, want him to look only at you, want him to touch you.)

He's completely unapproachable to anyone but you and you take pride in that, at least. it makes you feel special. It makes your heart stutter in what you assume is resentment. And still you can't help but stare. At those chiseled cheekbones and strong chin and those lips stuck in a perpetual stern frown. An image of warrior befits him Otabek much more, you decide. He might as well be some ancient conqueror that descended from pages of history textbooks, a perfect statue that came alive and even your breath is stolen from your lungs when you see him on the rink.

(You think he might as well be living stone or even ice with how composed and seemingly detached he is.)

It's all the same, your simmering anger and his unwavering composure until it's finally not. One of those days he absentmindedly brushes a stray lock of hait from your face and you find yourself wanting to catch his hand and press kisses to those knuckles, usually hidden by bike gloves. You want that feathery touch to leave a mark, to be able to keep it forever. You get as red as a tomato and you decide, you are perfectly allowed to be pissed, but then you notice. Otabek is... blushing? Just a little bit of red on the bridge of his nose.

And then he leans forward to take his spare helmet from you, he's suddenly closer than he's ever been and his lips are on yours. There's nothing to prepare you for that and your eyes shoot open in shock, in time to notice the difference in Otabek's face. His own pupils are wide, irises glowing like smoldering coals where you only ever saw composure and control before. It goes as quickly as it comes, fire smothered by his eyelids fluttering close, but it's enough to make you forget you're supposed to be furious. He stole from you again, your first kiss, but you don't feel angry at all as you stay stock-still more dumbfounded by a glimpse of emotion on that impassive face then suddeness of a gesture. When Otabek pulls back it's that same impassive mask again, but you can't even force yourself to be bitter about it. Because you are not. He stole from you again, but at that point it was nothing you didn't want to give away willingly.

(You wonder what other expressions you can force Otabek to make if you try hard enough.)

You find yourself coming back to the memory of that kiss often. It was nothing like you expected, you would say it was chaste and awkward, because you were so stunned by dark glowing of hot charcoal that you forgot to reciprocate. But it's something. Almost like a permission. So next time you meet, you reach out to Otabek clutch his hand tightly when you walk alongside each other like always. You make a point of not making a huge deal out of it and he doesn't react badly, just laces his fingers with yours tighter and keeps on walking, but with a quick glance, you can almost catch his lips curling upwards with a slightest ghost of a smile.

Maybe it's childish. Maybe it's silly. But your anger evaporates with the warmth of his hand in yours, with that faintest smile. You suddenly feel content and at peace and almost victorious. Because it is a victory and there's much more to come after that. So much more you can get back from him after he "stole" you.

(You feel like winning Otabek's smile may be just as sweet as getting that medal if not sweeter.)


End file.
